


Gallery

by oOoElvenGloryoOo



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Art, Comedy, F/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 01:07:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19897357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oOoElvenGloryoOo/pseuds/oOoElvenGloryoOo
Summary: The world is saved, spirits roam free, and Solas is forced to go to a social event in his honor.





	Gallery

"Ugghh vhenan..." he whined, shutting his eyes tight against the blinding morning sun pouring in through the now open curtains. Pulling the covers up over his face, he added "I just want to avoid this for one more hour. Please."

"You're the guest of honor, Solas. If you get up right now, you can still be fashionably late, rather than outright rude." Elana knew he hated the attention, especially the attention of rich Orlais nobles. But he was the man who found a way to avoid destroying the world, and was seen as an important, living part of what they considered mythology. Plus the nobility remained bitter about all the labor laws he'd put into place, wary of the spirits that now shared their world, and a little worried he really was a god. They needed to play the part of gracious guests and win their favor.

"I can still unmake the world, you know. Any time. Just say the word" he joked, stretching as he sat up, giving in to the fact he must get up and ready. She sat on the bed beside him,, gently kissing his cheek. "You never know, you might actually enjoy yourself. There will be wine. Spirits of creativity and the arts. Cheese plates. Pastries. More wine." She leaned on his shoulder endearingly.

"Or we could lay in bed all day, drinking wine, reading books, making love, more wine..." He kissed the top of her head. "I could just be Solas, not Fenharel..." she sat up straight and looked him in the eye. "You know, I remember a time where I just wanted to be Elana, the dalish elf, not the Herald. I wanted to lay in bed and heal the throbbing pain of the orb implanted in my hand." She gestured with the stump that was left. "Now you must do the same, and you get both your arms. C'mon. Up. Armor or sweater?"

"You are going to manipulate me with this for the rest of our marriage, aren't you? Sweater. Who wears armor to an art gallery." He stood and washed his face in the basin on the chest of drawers..

"Pretty sure 'Lord Fenharel' would wear armor to a..." she was interrupted. "Sweater. Definitely sweater." He snatched the sweater off the back of the chair, and pulled it on, then added his belt and necklace. "Might I add you look lovely in that dress, vhenan. No one will notice my sweater, they'll all be staring at you." The pale blue dress draped easily over her curves, tight where it needed to be, the rest like waterfalls of silk, embellished with precious aquamarine gems and sea glass beads. "Flatterer" she laughed, spinning so skirt flared out.

There was a knock on their hotel door. "Yes? Enter." he called out. A spirit of hospitality entered. "Lord Fenharel, ser, your transport has arrived."

"Solas, please. And thank you, we will be right down."

"Very good, Lord Solas, ser." The spirit bowed and took it's leave.

The carriage ride from their hotel to the gallery was thankfully brief, as the summer sun beat down relentlessly.

The gallery's exterior was all sharp clean lines, spotless glass, and white stucco. Inside it was bursting with life. Masked nobles nibbled on cheese and grapes, more focused on their gossip than the art. Creative types from all over Thedas chatted in front of paintings and sculptures, debating the meaning of each piece. Bullshitting, is what Varric would call it.

In fact, bullshit is what he thought of the art itself. They had titles like "The Trickster God Fenharel Saves Thedas" with a blurry likeness of himself mounted on a white horse with a raised sword. Every piece painted him a bit larger than life, a bit too heroic, a bit too broad shouldered. It felt like he, as himself, were wearing a costume, and that this man, this is the one that was real to everyone else.

It was surreal to wander through rooms where every wall displayed your face, just inaccurate enough to make it uncomfortable. He gave up on trying to shut down the "Lord Fenharel" nonsense, deciding instead to lean into it. At this point, he was simply trying to find every snack table and gorge himself between polite conversation.

Elana emerged from the crowd. "Enjoying yourself yet?" she asked. "Look behind me. In that piece you're being mounted by a six eyed wolf. It's title is "The Dread Wolf Claims His Mate." I am not, in fact, enjoying myself." He was stuffing an expensive blue cheese in his mouth as he spoke.

Elana, a bit drunk at this point, giggled at the picture. "Well Josie needs me, but I head someone say there's cake in the back room." She disappeared back into the mass of bodies and he was once again on his own.

Intrigued by the promise of cake, he wandered further back. Indeed, there was a dessert table, piled high with cakes and pies and truffles of all types. He began to pick out all the choicest options, starting with a lemon cream cake. By his third piece of dessert, he realized the art here was quite different. No pompous horses, thankfully devoid of wolf erotica, this room was entirely different.

Lovingly rendered sketches of his face, each displaying various expressions. Startlingly accurate sculptures showed him at peace, smiling as though Elana had just entered the room. The erotica in this room made him wonder who'd been spying on his private moments.

He noticed an elven woman at the other end of the dessert table, nervously picking at a pastry. She had a kind face, with bright red lips, and spectacles that kept sliding down her nose as she tried to disguise her anxiety. Another attendee approached her and they appeared to be negotiating prices on a portrait. Ah, that must be the artist, he thought to himself.

A pair of masked nobles whispered to each other just within earshot. "That's Reila, the mage. I heard she interviewed spirits who knew him." one said. "Well, I heard she made a deal with a demon" the other answered. "Rubbish, it was spirits of wisdom" was the retort. "I heard Dorian tell Sera that Lord Fenharel used to pleasure himself every night in front of his own artwork". Solas tried to contain his smirk as he eavesdropped on the ridiculous conversation.

While the mage artist talked business, he took a glance at a brochure from the stack at the end of the table. Reila, one of the first Dalish elves to not take a vallaslin after the world was healed, left her clan and traveled towards the nearest College of Magic, the institution that replaced the Circles, and began an intense study of elven folklore and customs. Her focus was primarily on Fenharel, and her graduate project was a deep dive into the spirits he'd known personally, and using that as inspiration for her art pieces. Today was the first time any of her work was shown to the public.

Figures they'd tuck the best part in the back room. The nobles of Orlais didn't want reality, they wanted a myth. Looking at each piece carefully, it was one of the few times he really felt like someone had seen him, the real him, without projecting a bit of themselves onto him.

When she'd finished her sale, he approached her. "Is this your first show?" he asked. She looked a bit startled to see him. "Um, yes. My first real show. You're..."  
He chuckled. "Yes, I am. Your work is different than the others. They all see me as an idea. You portrayed me as a man. I'm quite grateful for that, you know."  
He took another bite of cake, and gestured at her most erotic piece. "I especially appreciate the lack of wolves." A smile played on her lips. "I'm Reila. It's an honor to meet you, Solas." He bowed playfully. "The honor is mine, dalen. Though I see I have to be a bit more careful about what spirits might be watching me when I think I'm alone." He couldn't help but grin when his jest made her blush.

Standing in front of sculpture of himself with a green hood, he made an offer. "Whatever you're charging for that, I'll pay you double. And I'd like to commission you for a larger portrait to be displayed in Skyhold." He pulled the coin bag from his belt and handed it to her.

"And now, I must go back to the game, Reila. You have done me a great service, and made this party bearable. Thank you, and I hope to see you in Skyhold at your earliest convenience."


End file.
